handcuffed
by an amber dream
Summary: Hitsugaya Toushirou finds himself handcuffed in the middle of the night by someone unexpected (who was also wielding a knife, mind you). —hitsuhina


He blinked, the shadows in his room shifting with the flow of clouds outside. Something had woken him up, but he wasn't quite sure _what._ Jumping immediately from _fast asleep_ to _drowsy_ to _clear-headed_ needed some time even if he was a taichou.

But he was a _taichou_ (and a taichou noticed things).

The first thing he noticed the uncomfortable sensation around his wrists, a persistent chaff that occurred whenever he pulled against his restraints. Looking up through blurry eyes, his vision cleared as soon as he caught sight of what was keeping his wrists bound.

A pair of handcuffs.

Hitsugaya tugged desperately on them, trying even though he knew it would do no good. Not with these human-made — _tug —_ human-introduced — _tug —_ handcuffs. (He made a mental point to kill Kurosaki Ichigo later.)

The second thing he noticed was the weight of someone sitting on him. Shifting his gaze from his wrists to Hyourinmaru sitting by his futon, Hitsugaya calculated how much time he would have if he blasted his way out with kido, picked up his sword, and cornered his attacker. (Which wasn't exactly much, but he could still _try._ Not like anything was harder than getting Hinamori to stop calling him _Shiro-chan already, dammit!_ (and perhaps also the act of confessing to her))

And then the clouds shifted again and the face of his mysterious attacker made his breath catch in his throat, somehow stuck on its journey to his lungs.

The silvery sheen on her brown hair threw a halo of sorts above her head, and there was a glint in her deep eyes (was it from the moon or was it something else? he didn't know and didn't have the time to know). The next second he noticed the gleaming fruit knife in her hand and tensed.

(Okay, so now he knew.)

"Hinamori, what are you —" The slim finger pressing against his lips silenced him, stopped the accusation against her. She tilted her head and smiled, her shoulder-length hair brushing softly against her clothed shoulder.

It was a mischievous smile.

"I'm sorry for what I'm going to do to you, Shirou-chan." And then, wielding the knife with surprising dexterity, she sliced the top of his sleepwear into ribbons, leaving his chest open to the cold air. "Really sorry," she continued, tossing the knife to the side (now _that_ was really dangerous, Hitsugaya noted) and then leaning over him to strengthen the handcuffs with a binding kido.

(He did not mention how her chest was pressing against his face. He also did not mention how he took secret delight in that, because if he did, that would only earn him the label of a _pervert._ )

"Wha-what's with the handcuffs?" He cursed himself for stuttering, not when she was so close to him.

Hinamori blinked and took the time to answer him, dragging the same finger across his face, the tip just barely brushing against his burning skin.

"Well," the finger dragged across his cheeks and caught his lips, and Hinamori briefly added another finger into his mouth to play with his tongue, "I couldn't possibly use a kido spell," the saliva splayed down his neck and slid down his skin, leaving a cool trail as it dried, and her hand (no longer just a finger, he noted) danced its way down his chest, momentarily pausing over the pink scars still present, "since it would just take too long and you might wake up," she slowly, slowly, dragged a finger up his torso again, smiled when he groaned at the lack of skin contact after she lifted her hand away from him.

"Don't you agree, Shirou-chan?"

Instead of replying he only managed out a strained _Hinamori_ and she, smiled again (or was that a smirk? he didn't know she could _smirk._ ), splayed her hands across his chest again, enjoyed the feel of tense muscles rippling under _her_ touch. If he didn't know any better, he might have thought that she was just 'copping a feel' _but he did know better._ And he knew that his childhood friend had something bigger to focus on. He was simply good at thinking like that.

Which was _definitely_ not why when she leaned down to press kisses on his throat he moaned. And she won the game of thoughts.

"Hinamori," he gasped in between the sloppy kisses on his neck and the occasional scrape of nails against flesh (that felt _so good_ ), "why are you doing this?" She paused to sit up straight again, flicking her hair back. The barette that normally held her longer bangs back was not there, and her hair covered her left eye, leaving a sole brown eye looking humorously down at him.

"Isn't that obvious?" He must be crazy for thinking that she looked, well, _hot_ when she was looking down at him from a superior position, or it _might have been the fact that blood was rushing away from his head down to other parts_. Clearly Hinamori noticed too, because she shifted atop of him, smirking again, and the pleasure that shot through his body blurred out slightly what she said. "It's because you're too much of a wimp, Toushirou, and the girl just _had_ to take matters into her own hands."

(what did she mean?)

She must have literally meant _into her own hands,_ because there was cold air hitting _another_ part of him, and then there was the warmth of a hand _there._ "Hinamori-!" He could barely get her name out before _she moved,_ hand pressing against his flesh as she pumped, hair and clothes a mess. The delightful electricity sizzled all over his body again, and he wanted to _touch_ her so much, guide her to go faster because he was going crazier every second her _warm, warm_ hand was against him, moving against every inch of his flesh. She must be smirking down at him, because he could see the bare hint of a gleeful smile as she moved faster, her thumbs rubbing against the front. He really, really, wanted to _touch her,_ to feel the warmth of skin above him, and he pulled against his restraints, desperate. The rattle of annoying metal irritated him further, but the irritation was pushed back by the feel of moist lips against his flesh. _She must have intended for it to also be_ into her own mouth _then,_ he thought hazily, before he arched back, the pleasure building ready to explode, ready to come —

But her mouth released him with a _pop_ and he groaned in frustration at being denied his release, fists clenching hard enough to leave half moons in his palms. "No," she smirked, her tone silky as hell (it's not like she knows how it's like to be denied something like this), her hand still clutching his base, chocking off his way to heaven. "Bad boys that keep girls waiting need to be punished."

It was only then that he noticed where her other hand was (it was between her legs, fingers working furiously fast at her core, sweet juices running messily down her long pale legs to pool onto his muscles that made him feel tingly all over and a fire burn at the bottom of his stomach) and it was also then that he realised he was eagerly anticipating just what kind of _punishment_ she had for him.

(he must be crazy then.)

* * *

 _A/N: Hello...this is my first time attempting to write something remotely lemon-ly like, but it turned out more lime...but I still hope you'll enjoy it._


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